The Liar's Game
by The Last Deathly Guardian
Summary: An anthropology on Joker. Warning: Mild violence.
1. Chapter 1

**The Liar's Game**

 **Disclaimer:** I DO NOT own Joker/Clover/Heart no Kuni no Alice.

 **A/N:** Mentions of Joker/Alice, White Joker/Black Joker, Blood/Alice, Gray/Alice, Ace/Alice and Peter/Alice. These pairings can either be platonic, romantic, or one-sided.

* * *

 **1\. Monochrome**

White and Black - they were one and the same and yet still different and unique. In them there is darkness and there is light, but neither could ever hope to exist without the other. White and Black. Two shades of foundation coming off from two absolute extremes. No other color existed aside from them. And no one else existed to them aside from the presence of each other. It was a mockingly beautiful monochrome world of their own twisted design - and in here the words they said to each other were the most hurtful of lies and their obsessive need to hurt each other is just another demonstration of power over one another.

Black curled inwards into himself as the black whip mercilessly slashed a deep gash onto his exposed back, those bloody red lips quivering in pain and parted slightly to harshly exhale over the freezing concrete floor. The immaculate uniform he wore was torn in so many places that he could barely remember where those rips were exactly - his mind to befuddled and muddled from more important, captivating things. A particular nasty flick sent Black diving to the ground, and a boot followed, crunching the side of his face, cruelly adding pressure to the stinging red bruises on his cheeks.

White's lips curved upwards into a disgustingly satisfied smile of his, induced by the action of stripping his harsher counterpart bare and having him bowed pitifully at his feet. White flicked his wrist and the whip cracked with a sharp distinctive snap in the air. Hearing the sound, Black shuddered beneath him and White could feel the anticipation coming off in waves of him, his wanton need for further attention slyly seeping into the stale dungeon air, so tangibly sour that White could only roll out his tongue to taste it.

It was an irony in itself having the Warden of his own prison underneath his thumb - those the metal cuffs linking Black's arms together in a spiral fashion, bending human limbs in a way that they should have not been bent by any sane person. But the Joker had never confessed to being sane - they embraced the insanity and moral ambiguity of their role fully with opened arms and shamelessly divulged themselves in these fantasies right within the heart of their own wretched illusions.

A monochrome world - they have created this reality and willingly buried themselves under the shuddering weight of it. The repercussions were heavy but they did not care.

" _ **Joker**_ ," Black rasped, turning as far as he could in his current position, to cast the smiling man a look of pure disgruntlement and irritation. The glow of his eye were fevered and hazy-like, his usually stoic face slackened into one that let him express his emotions more freely. "Don't you _dare_ do it again, you sick bastard."

White lifted his foot and crouched down to meet those _fascinating_ eye.

"Oh, where's the fun in that?~" he trilled, brushing over the exposed neck no longer completely hidden underneath that military uniform. Black's fingers twitched at the touch but overall did not move to bat it away. "A little harmless blood play never hurt anybody. I daresay, you _enjoyed_ it the first few times we did it."

"You're _projecting_ , damn circus pervert. I _hate_ this-"

White delivered a swift backhand. Black hissed, spatting out blood.

"Tsk tsk. Looks like you're finally denying the truth like a _good_ Joker," White smiled, baring his pearly white teeth threateningly. "And it only took me to reduce you to _this_ state too for - so many times that even I have lost count. That is so like you, Warden," he hummed, raising a hand and striking his other half across the left cheek. Unable to do anything - his hands were freakin' useless since White had them cuffed, damn him - Black glared.

" _Bite me_ ," he sneered.

White laughed, his voice ringing high and clear. "Oh, I _intend_ too!"

 _Warden._ He who wears the uniform. _Joker._ He who conducts the travelling circus.

White and Black - they were two different people, two different roles, two different sides of the same coin. Interchangeable, inseparable, _irreplaceable_.

 _It doesn't mean that he can't be killed._

No matter how much Black may complain - oh, how White remembers how much he begged him not to do it the first time they did this - the silver rimmed knife was already in his hands, the whip long since discarded behind him without a second thought.

" _Hold still_ ," White murmured, caressing the skin just below his jugular. "Or this will get very messy, Warden, and I just _hate_ it when you make me clean it all up."

Black fidgeted at the look in his single eye, mad and wild in the half-light. The Warden growled again, "Goddammit, I said _don't do it_ , you freakin' moron!"

" _Too late~_ "

A fleeting smile and the knife sliced cleanly over his throat. Black gurgled, blood immediately foaming out from his mouth. Some of it splattered over his circus costume but he did not mind it - he was always knees deep in someone guts one way or another.

"B-Bastard!"

"Why, thank you."

Playfully throwing the knife in the air, White snatched it and subsequently plunged the pointed end straight through where his heart was. The light died in Black's eye, who died with a hateful sneer on his lips.

"You always made _such_ a disappointing Joker, Warden," White cooed over the corpse, smearing the face with the blood on his gloves. Such a sight Black made, dressed obscenely in his own life fluids. "It's good to see you're finally learning to embrace that part of you. You almost had me believing you, for a second."

Getting up, White brushed off the imaginary lint from his pants and straightened his jacket. Bending down to snatch the keys from Black's ruined blazer - he would have to design a new one soon for the insufferable fool, bloodstains were hard to remove after all and Black was incredibly fussy about how he looked - he left the corpse behind untouched, locking the cell with a resounding _click._

The silence of a thousand toys screamed after him as White departed, whistling a jaunty tune with a noticeable skip in his step.

It was their world, this monochrome world, devoid of warmth and light. Oh, there was laughter and moonlight but neither ever touched the realm of the sinned. This prison and the circus was the Country of the Joker - an existence that will forever be feared and hated for by every single inhabitant in this realm.

An unacknowledged card. The Joker.

Separated out from the pack and thrown straight into the scorching flames.

Black and **White**.

 **White** and Black.

Embracing the vibrant atmosphere of the circus, White smiled at the sight of the faceless crowds and the talented troupes putting on their little antics. His gloves and clothes were still incredibly drenched and stained - permanent and flashy - his crimson hair disheveled and his eye having that satisfied gleam in them that would reduce anyone who dared look at him into a shivering mess of fright.

White stepped into the light.

Applause erupted from the crowd and he graced them all with a welcoming smile - perfected and perfected again until no one could distinguish it from a fake and a truly genuine one.

In the circus, it was all part of an act. In prison, a show for those ruined toys and rotting prisoners.

A monochrome world was where he truly belonged - where the only colour White would see would be Black and the only colour Black would see would be White.

"What's good company when what you only need was one?" he murmured under his breath, before embracing his Ringleader persona and throwing his hands wide to open the first act of the night.

After all, everything was only a stage lowered down to hell. And these actors are spineless puppets not worth his time and effort.

 _Joker is influencing my thoughts even while he's currently a rotting corpse._

Confetti exploded from above and for a moment, everything was a haze of colours and emotions. The spectators 'ooh'ed and 'aah'ed at the sight, and standing in the midst of it all, waiting to entertain them for another night -

Joker snapped his fingers and the lights dimmed.

Only in their monochrome world did they - **_he_** \- truly existed.

* * *

 **1.5. Mess**

White trailed his spidery fingers over the unblemished skin.

"You've got to stop killing me every damn time, dumbass!" Black ground out, swatting White's wandering fingers from his person. His torso was bare and he was naked from waist up. Black noticed that White took care to give him a modest pair of black slacks too, unlike the last few times where White had deliverately left him completely stripped of his clothes, the damn creep. "It's totally unfair how my death tally is higher than yours when _you're_ practically the suicidal one, Joker! Quit killing me off whenever you want, you creepy bastard!"

White maintained that wide, cheerful smile of his. Though, the lightness in his eye dulled somewhat, replaced by a colder and calculating look. "Are you confessing that you can't _handle_ a little blood and pain anymore?" he said, in that airy and polite way that he does - masking the underlying mockery and edginess of his words. Black clenched his jaw but said nothing. White's eyes comically widen in an exaggerated fashion. "You're not denying it? Heh, don't tell me you've gone _soft_!"

Black recoiled at the thought, snarling. "As _if._ "

"Aw, getting flustered, Joker?" White cooed, teasing fingers returning to mockingly pat his cheeks. White withdrew before Black could curl his hand around his fingers, instead the hand closed painfully around the empty air. "Naughty, naughty! You could have hurt me, Joker."

"That's the damn point - and stop treating me like one of these useless toys!" Black snapped, batting away further advancements from White. "Wave that finger any closer and I'll freakin' _bite_ it off!"

The clown pouted. "You're no fun, Joker," he said, coming close to sounding like a whine. "Let loose for once - all we do around here is work and work and work! _Live a little."_

And with that, White had him flat on his back against the cement. Since he was still shirtless, the cold nips to his back made Black a little uncomfortable and fueled his irritation at having White top him again. Especially that downright smug expression which made his blood boil at the sickening sight of it. It reeked of self-satisfaction and ill-intent, which would normally not bother him, except that it was directed at him and Black was sick and tired of playing the Harlequins games where he usually ended up bottoming out of the two of them.

With some movement, Black flipped the positions so that now _he_ was at the top, harshly pressing down White.

There should be some satisfaction he should be getting out of this but the smarmy bastard looked so damn _pleased_ about being manhandled that victory tasted bland and tasteless in his own mouth - and the urge to spit the taste out directly onto his face was terribly tempting. And just as he was about to consider it - the spiel rolling speculatively inside his mouth - the sudden reemergence of his hands trailing along his sides nearly made him choke on it, and he retaliated by slamming White again to the ground.

There was a _crack_ sound from having his skull connected mercilessly with the hard surface, and blood flowed profusely from the head wound. Pain spread out like wild fire, igniting his pain receptors all across his body - with a particular concentration at the back of his head. It hurt a lot, but White managed to at least to mockingly lick the blood of his red-reamed teeth, knowing the sight of the action would further incite the hot-headed Joker to brutality.

Sure enough, it was the familiar feel of leather against his throat that greeted him through the dizzying haze, and the teasing caress of the dagger, kissing a bloody trail across the cheek. It was somewhat hard to enjoy the thrill of the game while bleeding out excessively but as long as he could feel the thrum of excitement stroking him, steadily working him towards that cross-eyed inducing ecstasy, nothing else really mattered.

Black was not known to drag these 'playtime' for long - he usually went straight for the kill, both literally and figuratively. So, it did come so much a a surprise when he finally pushed it in, wickedly sharp at the tilt, into that soft spot just a little ways below his 'heart' while simultaneously the leather cord wrapped around his neck tightened and instantly had him choking on air. Cruel and malicious the expression on his counterpart maybe, White confess disappointment in not being able to see it, what with the blurred visions and static noise and delicious pain swipping his mind blank from everything else as he focused on getting his 'fix'.

"Heh, you're not exactly in the position to be wearing that, _Warden_ ," whispered that sinful, brusque voice, breath barely breezing over the shell of his outer ear. "Bleeding out in here like a freakin' retard...you're so damn shameful, you asshole, it's disgusting." Hands lingered briefly over his thighs, smoothing over the creases of his pants, before they left to take their rightful place on the handle, and pressure on the knife returned, causing the normally composed Joker to moan, and panting and drawing in what little air he could to breath while the makeshift noose remained around his neck. "Your face slicked with sweat and moaning loudly like a bitch in heat...not so hot now are you, _Warden_?"

"J-Joker..." it came out as a strangled, pitiful sound. "J-Jo..."

"Shut up, bastard." The dagger still deep in his chest, Black made a careless upward slashing movement. It cut through his chest cavity and lungs and windpipe into messy ribbons. More blood gurgled out from White's mouth, so much that it spilled out from the sides - like a really sick waterfall made of his body fluids. The riding corp prevented his body from heaving more blood, so White ended up writhing on the floor, hacking and drowning in a pool of his personal red sea, leaving permanent stains and bright fingerprints from where his fingers scrapped the ground.

Black got off the convulsing body, already bored with creating a crime scene in his own prison - one glance around, he let out an irritated huff. The bastard couldn't have spilled his guts out in one place but to also get the walls dirty too? He wiped his hands on his ruined pants, which was completely soaked.

"J-...ker..."

Black sighed, annoyed. "You're still not dead yet? Freakin' retard."

With a idle flick of his riding corp, White's throat sliced open in a grotesque display and the light in his eye died instantly.

"Finally, some peace and quiet," Black muttered. He checked his whip and cursed at the amount of blood covering it. "..damn it, I've made a bigger mess of this place. Dirty bastard, bleeding so much over the damn place."

Black exited the cell, not bothering to lock it up. The prison was in impeccable condition because of him and he didn't need White ruining that image for him, _again_ , because he couldn't keep his masochistic kink in check and liked to be a bloody human sprinkler that just doesn't stop squirting, and Black hates it that the bastard keeps on roping him into these sick games of his when he knows that _he_ would be the one that needs to clean up their mess afterwards and he _hates_ dirtying up things unless absolutely necessary...and having your elbows deep in each others guts did not count as _necessary_ and was just plain annoying.

He examined his blood crusted fingernails with a scowl.

Cleaning and the bastard can wait. What he needs now was a long shower.

* * *

 **2\. Immortal**

An infernal device that refuses to stop ticking - a constant annoyance and hated existence, replacing what should be there and at the same time what should not be there.

Clocks. The Faceless have it, the Role Holders have it, and yet for the Joker, there was never a trace of its presence on their person. It was the clockless body that the Joker had, terribly silent and empty and devoid of any ties stringing them to mortality.

The Joker referred to himself as already not human - the role he played for so long already evolved in such a drastic and complicated way that death for him, the permanent and non-resurrection death that everyone sometimes sought in this world, will never be possible for him ever again.

So that was why as Joker coughed out blood, splattering the grass with his own vileness whilst clutching his shoulder, shaking with mocking laughter even as the Knight of Heart swung that deadly sword of his in a swift arc - there was no point to dodge the doubtless blow when it came for him, there was no point in anything sensible or logical when it came down to him anymore.

Dying every single time at the hands of the Role Holders was a pitiful, weak thing for him. But it had happened so many times and for so long that Joker eventually refused to stop his taunting words, refused to draw even his sword or riding corp, and simply refused to budge at all.

Immortality was a cruel and beautiful curse.

And as Joker was hacked to pieces right in front of her very eyes, he managed that wicked slash of a smile of his, laughing himself until he was hoarse and breathless - both from the absolute hilarity in the situation and from his own executioner strangling him without mercy.

Even for a card like him, she has time to spare that useless pity of hers.

Such strange sentimentality.

He arced forward, body wreaking with coughs and trembling.

"Joker- _san_ , you're still alive? Wow, you really are stubborn to kill!"

That disgustingly cheerful voice grated on his ears. It made him regret for ever inducting him as the new executioner those numerous time periods ago. The damn bastard never took on that role seriously enough, unlike the Clockmaker.

" _Ace!_ S-stop! That's enough!" a loud interrupted his musings, drawing his eyes back to the little Liddell girl openly crying to the side. It amused him and he smiled even as the knight decided to kick him in the stomach. "S-Stop it!" Her cries fell on deaf ears.

Like how nearly all his encounters with the Role Holders play out, it ended with him dead at their feet and so - Joker let out a choked gasp when the knife fully entered him.

"W-Why...why...why..."

It was strange, how he could still hear her voice so clearly as the world dimmed and the familiar sensation of 'dying' started to envelop him. If anything, he should be starting to disconnect with the world already - touch, taste, pain and voices...especially that compassionate voice weeping for his - temporary - death. He should not be able to hear her. He should not be able to feel that warmth spreading from the void within the left side of his chest.

" _A-Ace..._ y-you didn't h-have...to..."

"Why are you upset? He would have killed you, so I killed him before he could."

 _No, I wouldn't._

As if somehow reading his thoughts, Alice echoed it back to the knight. _"_ Joker wouldn't have killed me!" she protested. It was lovely how believable she sounded - so sure of what he perceived about him. "...and now, y-you..."

Joker was suddenly forced back into the tide of dizziness and muddled thoughts. Death beckoned him insistingly, trying to pull him away from the scene, saying that he had lingered long enough, the pints of blood that made up his body already nearing empty.

He surrendered quietly and finally went still. The sounds of the argument echoed in his ears but the meaning was distorted and the words were impossible to make out.

Immortality was an annoying concept but one that he had gotten quite used to.

Joker never viewed there to be an upside to never dying - he was hated for what he was, he was hated for what he did and really was there any point in it all for existing in the first place when the denizens much preferred it if he just disappeared completely? Messing with the Role Holders was all fun and games but existing forever meant that he was always literally at the end of their swords and guns.

Dying had lost its novelty a long time ago. Now, it was something of a routine. An inevitable outcome. A boring chore.

The image of blonde curls and bright blue eyes broke through the surface of the grey and black wisp-like plane, like the sun breaking the night skies into day. It made him feel that it was worth it, going through the trouble of resurrection and dying over and over again - as long as someone as lost as her continued to need him, rely on him, depend on him - a long game such as the one he was playing with the little outsider could not end so soon because of a silly thing like death.

No, immortality has it's ups and downs, and for now, Alice Liddell happens to make it worthwhile for once. So, as long as Joker was able to come back to her.

* * *

 **3\. Illusions**

A washed in the drapes of painful memories and distant feeling of regret - it was terribly bitter, remembering the smoothness of its skin and the handsome face wet and dirty with sins, wicked enough to strike down the hearts of the pure of heart and weak-willed people.

No one ever wondered about the Joker's lack of heartbeat. In defense however, no one ever wanted to get close enough to even find out. It was something they assumed and eventually concluded when the Joker kept coming back despite dying repeatedly again and again.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

Water dripped from the leaky pipes snaking across the cracked walls, weaving a a spidery webs of rusted copper and worn out nails threatening to fall away from their original positions. The pool of water at his feet caused his black boots to squelched in an unnecessary loud way. There were stains on the walls and scars and imperfections, all criss-crossed over each other in a maddening maze of puzzles and history and memory. _  
_

 _"You don't have a heartbeat!"_

The Warden tapped a random rhythm against his belt, his riding corp swishing as he stalked past the empty cells, occasionally kicking a stray toy that got in his way. Remembering always put him in a foul mood - worse in comparison to his usual disposition around the prisoners and the other Joker. Remembering brought both the sense of triumph and muted feelings of frustration that refuses to be shook off no matter what he did to squash it down.

 _Long, thin fingers grasped either side of the slit and carefully widened it, pushing through to touch the inside - it was wet and slimy and warm, reminiscent of the cavern of a mouth, threatening to pull him further inside-_

It was unlike him, walking around on his patrols with his single crimson eye dazed and unseeing, the sight of a different time taking priority - a dark past that he wanted to bury deep within the recess of his mind. _  
_

 _...it hurt, teasing his fingers one by one until all of them made it inside, and then groping blindly in the dark for that one spot, that touch that will tell him that it was right there and that it has always been there..._

He did not realize that his hands were furiously scrubbing at the imaginary stains. Black stop the movement, his gloved hands were hot to the touch. He made an annoyed tsking sound, pissed off for losing control like this. Where was his composure, his rationality? He did not dwell on the past, there was nothing but crap in it anyways. Why even bother remembering? _  
_

 _It wasn't there. What should be there was gone, leaving only a hollow cavern devoid of the clock that should have been present in him. It wasn't there. Why wasn't it there? Bloodied fingers groped further, shoving his hand fully into his body, razoring through the arteries and veins as he swept around looking for that beating lump...that circular ticking metal...something that would prove that he still haven't become-_

It was all her fault. The freakin' outsider and her damn curiosity.

 _...blood foamed at the mouth, his stubbornness in ignoring how he was abusing his body was taking its toll in the worse ways possible..._

Something she said stuck in his mind like an incessant weed, easy to pull out but kept on coming back.

 _"You don't have a heartbeat!"_

Cheeks flushed a delicate rose hue and bright cerulean eyes wide with earnest. Her blonde hair was unusually messy, matching her wild expression. There was no cracks in her visage - her curiosity was refreshing in its honesty as he studied her, holding her close.

It was one of those rare occasions when she had visited the circus and he was in-charge instead of Joker. _  
_

 _"A-ah, d-don't just suddenly appear behind me like that!" She gave the circus master a withering look. She looked at him searchingly turning away with an annoyed huff. "Honestly, Black-san, a little warning would have been nice."_

 _"This is my turf, what are you even doing here anyways?"_

Her clumsiness had her tripping all over the place, falling over the training equipment and almost crashing into the other circus performers.

A potential walking hazard if he ever saw one.

 _"Klutz."_

 _"H-hey, I didn't mean too! There's so many things to watch out for in here, and you pushing me into them doesn't help!"_

 _"...I have no idea about what you're talking about."_

 _"Right, so sticking your foot out just now wasn't intentional, hm?"_

 _"It's not my fault that you're so damn out of it you can't even notice something like that - hey, watch out!"_

 _Props and costumes tumbled to the ground, and while the performers apologized profusely, he was more focused on the girl wrapped around his arms and her sudden muted expression. It took it a moment to realize that her hand was placed directly over his chest._

 _"You don't have a heartbeat!"_

His head was bowed, low enough for him to catch the arrays of minute expressions flickering across her face - some were too fast to follow while others...She looked defiant with the way she stared at him but her nervousness at his proximity was obvious, though the distracted look in her eyes annoyed him, prompting him to do something about it, not liking the fact that she was not paying attention to him.

Brushing his knuckles against her cheek, it amused him how she leaned instinctively at his touch, her eye lashes brushing close enough to caress his fingers as she continued to look at him. It was a shame that this scene never happened. A bitter smirk curled around his lips as the memory broke down, and an illusion of her began to take form. More prettier, more gentler, _more_...

Dipping his head, he leisurely swiped his tongue over her bottom lip, nipping and licking, as her heart - whole, real and completely alive - thundered in that strangely alluring erratic beat against him. And the girl shuddered under his ministrations, her skin quite warm even after a little teasing. Her eyes were shuttered to half-mast, clouded and unfocused, and her pale cheeks were flushed. It was a shame the real Alice could not look like this. He trailed his tongue down a wet path to her collarbone, and she arced into him gasping breathlessly, her fingers digging into his shoulder blades. Such a shame that she refused to accept her guilt and enter his prison willingly. Shyly brushing his lips against hers, his crimson eye stared intensely into her eyes as he moved to press himself closer to her.

He would have treat her gently.

"Eh, having fun daydreaming without me? How cruel," whispered that overly familiar voice from behind him. "I've only stepped out for a while, Warden."  
At the realization that he had an audience, the illusion of her willing burst into a million sparkling lights, falling to the ground and disappearing without a trace.

Black clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as he turned to face his counterpart.

White stepped lightly out from one of the opened cells, looking immaculate in his prison uniform, his cap held loosely in his hand. "Naughty, naughty, Such crude thoughts about a little girl...Oh, what will Alice think of us?" he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're weak to have fallen so easily to her charms, Warden."

Still high-strung from the almost kiss and frustration of having been intruded upon, Black snarled, lunging at the smiling man and slamming him hard against the metal bars. "Like you aren't the same, asshole? Freakin' ironic calling the kettle black," he spat, fists wrinkling the front of White's uniform, twisting it so that he could push the damn bastard harder. "Why the hell are you even here anyways, Joker, waltzing into prison when you have those circus freaks to take care off?"

"Circus _performers_ , Warden. Freak is such a derogatory term."

"Like I care, you retarded pansy ass clown."

White faked a wounded expression. "Ouch. Such serious name calling...was that daydream that good that you're actually taking it out on me?" he said, adopting a sly look. "Pleasuring yourself with that illusion, I bet you had her on her knees too - oof!"

Black slammed him against the bars again, and there was a loud crack. "Shut up, bastard. Don't compare me with your worthless self! Being sick in the head is your specialty, leave me the heck out of it."

"Hm. You're being especially upfront about things today. Are you feeling well?" Black punched him and White spat out a tooth, which clanked on the floor. Drool dribbled down his chin and his cheek was rapidly turning a nasty shade of blue-black. Though White, to his credit, maintained his composure. "...that's all you got? Normally you would try to hit harder, Warden. I'm disappointed."

"Only you would get all depressed about not being hit hard enough in the face," Black sneered, giving the Joker one last shove before steeping back. "Go back to that hole you crawled out from. I've got work to do and right now, you're not worth the time needed to get all that blood out my axe."

The sudden change had White reeling. "Huh? Warden is actually letting me go?" he said out loud, incredulous. "Aren't you going to kill me? What about the insults? The snide remarks! Are you seriously going to leave me hanging - hey, Joker!" White snapped, finally losing a little of his carefully controlled composure. Black made a big show of yawning. "Are you even listening to me!?"

"Nope," Black said, popping the 'p'. He gave White a careless two-fingered wave before he started walking away, hands shoved into his pants, his ring of keys jingling. "Later, loser."

"Warden! _Joker_!" White shouted after him, but the man pretended not hear him and left. Frustrated at being out-played, he turned to take out his anger on the nearest toy; which happens to be some disfigured looking toy train that resembled a worm. Viciously kicking the worm-look-alike, the toy clattered off the ground and smashed against the walls with a loud clank.

A puff of smoke came from his right.

"It seems like I came at a bad time. Trouble in paradise, Joker?" Nightmare needled, adopting a lackadaisical pose whilst he hovered a few feet off the ground. "I would have never imagined seeing you so unruffled."

"Inviting yourself in here...I'm afraid I can't entertain you for long, I'm quite busy," White said, smoothing away his earlier frustration and greeting the incubus with the brightest smile he could muster. Nightmare's sudden intrusion in the prison realm was curious but not enough to warrant any questions from him. It was not like it was the first time he did it. "The circus is performing tonight at Clover, will you be attending?"

"Of course, against my will and everything, since it's apprently a rule that I have to make the effort to see your ugly face every time you're in town," Nightmare answered just as pleasantly. Joker smiled back, already used to the insults mixed in the responses he gets from the Role Holder. "You must be feeling over-confident about tonight's performance if you still have time to play around in prison. What, practicing is now beneath you?"

"Haha, you say the most hilarious things, Nightmare," White said wryly, tapping his finger idly against the riding corp by his hip. Nightmare gave the whip a sparing glance before taking another deep inhale of his pipe. "A performer will never stop practicing and I am humble enough to realize the need to do that myself. Rest assured, the performance will be spectacular with or without my presence prior to the opening night. My performers are well-trained and can handle themselves while I'm gone." White Joker paused deliberately. "But you did not come all the way here to make idle chit-chat, Nightmare. What is it?"

"Alice Liddell," Nightmare said, letting the name slowly uncurl from his tongue. Joker merely raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest. "She happens to have fallen under your jurisdiction - don't try to deny it, she confessed to having dreamed about you."

"It was a harmless visit."

"A _harmless_ visit, ha! You completely spooked her by forcing her to remember like that!"

"And you're coddling her by making her forget all of her responsibilities," Joker countered, in a mild tone. "She needs to remember-"

"She doesn't need to do anything! She's perfectly fine not remembering at all! Are you seriously trying to kill her, Joker? You know that memory would destroy her!"

"Everyone keeps on assuming the worst case scenario. You're blinded by your innate attraction and adoration to an Outsider," he said, shaking his head. "You're not even letting her have the chance to get closure for what happened, making her not remember is just prolonging the inevitable! She will have to face reality sooner or later, Nightmare, and delaying that will make it worse. You know this."

Nightmare lowered his pipe, a dark expression on his face. "It's better this way."

"Better for her or better for you? Waste all the time you want, Gottschalk." Nightmare flinched at the use of his last name. "When it comes down to it, Alice Liddell will decide for herself whether or not to reject or accept me. It is inevitable."

"I'll keep killing you over and over again if it means that she would not have to make that decision," Nightmare threatened.

Joker mockingly spread out his arms in invitation. "Be my guest. It's not like you haven't done so already, you and all the other love-struck Role Holders, and look how well that turned out," he drawled, smiling delightedly at the rage he sees on the incubus's normally impassive face. "The game is already lost, give up Nightmare."

"...what would you have her choose?"

The smile vanished. "I beg your pardon?"

"When the day comes, what would you have her choose?" Nightmare repeated, scrutinizing the warden. "The prison or the circus?"

"...my opinion does not matter, ultimately, it is still her decision."

"You're not answering the question," Nightmare pressed. "I asked you, what do _you_ want her to choose?"

Joker shrugged, the cheerful facade slipping a little. "Who knows? At the end, the circus and the prison are one and the same - an illusion fueled by the dreamer. Didn't you know that, Nightmare?" He barked out a sarcastic laugh and smiled mirthlessly. "What ever she does, she'll still be stringing us all along for the ride, _ne_?"

"You'll accept her rejection willingly?"

Joker turned, a shadow covered his face. "You're acting as if I have a choice. How cruel."

"Well, would you?"

"How could I not?" Bitterness seeped into his words, poisonous and lethal. Joker put on his black cap, adjusting it securely atop of his head. "A mirror reflects the image, and it can also show an illusion of the worst possible self there can be to a person. Should I have a say in regards to her choices? No, because Alice Liddell can deny all she wants, but it is the truth that she is the one playing this game."

Considering the questions answered, Joker made to walk away but Nightmare's voice stopped him.

"Then, who are you?"

" _Me_?"

It could be the trick of the light but Joker's form wavered in that single moment, flickering between the circus costume and warden uniform unsteadily. Two images superimposed over each other; one _cruel_ and the other _kind_.

"Why, I'm just the reflection."

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

**The Liar's Game**

 **Disclaimer:** I DO NOT own Joker/Clover/Heart no Kuni no Alice.

 **A/N:** Mentions of Joker/Alice, White Joker/Black Joker, Blood/Alice, Gray/Alice, Ace/Alice and Peter/Alice. These pairings can either be platonic, romantic, or one-sided.

* * *

 **4\. Skiving**

White Joker hummed as he took a step outside. "Ah, this time period will be ending soon~" he said, looking at the bright sunny day. "It's such a nice day."

April season was over and it was time for the circus's next move.

"Oi, Joker! Stop slacking off and get your ass in here!" the white mask vibrated, the high pitch voice like grating a knife across a blackboard. White reminded himself that he was used to it - that he did not wince at the sudden intrusion of his much needed peace and quiet. "Hey, are you listening to me, you twit?! Come back inside and help, damn it!"

"I heard you loud and clear, Joker. No need to shout on a wonderful day like this," he said pleasantly.

Black snorted though via the mask it sounded like a loud sneeze. "Stop admiring the scenery, there's a lot of things to move in here and you're not helping, Joker!"

White sighed. Never there be any doubt that Black was more suited to be the Warden for more reasons than one. "You're so dedicated to your job, Joker. We still have three more time periods to dismantle everything - why rush these things?"

"If you decide to skive off again, I swear-"

He did not hear what Black said as there was a sudden flash of blue dashing by at his periphery. It was not hard to guess who had decided to come play one last time. White grinned, already imagining the feel of the worn out tarot cards in his hands.

"Watch the twins for me, Joker, there's a flower in the forest that I would like to find before we leave."

"Wha - what does that even mean-"

White cupped his hands over the mask. "Shush," he admonished lightly. "You're scaring away all the lovely song birds."

It was lie and they both knew it. No birds ever come to this side of their forest. Even among the wildlife, their presence turned repulsed rather than attract.

With the exception of one, of course.

"G-get ywour hwands off me!" came the masks muffled response. "Joker!"

"Not until you behave."

"Alright, alwright! Just, get yer hwands off me - I can't breathe!"

White took his hands off immediately. "Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot about that."

"I'd permanently end you if I could, you freakin' idiot!" Black raged. "Thrice damned skiving bastard."

He laughed. _Oh, this was fun._ Riling up the Warden was definitely his favourite past time. Such interesting reactions he had to offer. "I love you too, Joker. I won't be gone long, so for now, I'll leave the circus in your care."

The mask did not have the flexibility to display expressions but White could imagine the sneer probably directed towards him right now.

"Screw you! Like I need you to tell me that every damn single time."

"Then I'll be off. A flower as lovely as that could not hope to find its way to me," he said, beaming a cheerful smile. From afar, it would have been a beautiful sight - such a handsome young man overflowing with excitement.

"You're off your damn rocker with those dumb metaphors of yours, Joker," the mask grumbled. "Just go find your stupid flower already. I'm out of here."

The mask fell silent.

A light breeze came into the clearing, ruffling his hat and causing the bells to jingle. Bright as it was the smile on his face, a less than chivalrous light sparkled in his single ruby eye and a long dark shadow cast over his eye-patch.

She stumbled at his sudden appearance, wide-eyed in surprise. White tsked to himself though he smiled indulgently as he helped her back to her own two feet.

A discarded flower that deserves no attention.

"Lost again, Alice?"

* * *

 **5\. Lies**

Wrapped in shadows,

And burning bridges,

Reflected in mirrors,

Tongue that only lies.

.

Senseless questions,

No need for answers,

These pretty illusions,

Are much more fun.

.

A ring around the middle,

Metal bars caging birds,

And these broken toys,

Where are the keys?

.

Suffocate - Losing,

Drown - Denying,

Choke - Accepting,

Dead - Remembering.

.

A lonely black throne,

A spotless canvas,

A mask of joy, and

A mask of sadness.

.

Love the foul Warden,

Fear the smiling Joker.

Board the shiny train,

And trust the conductor.

.

The man of many faces,

And a thousand secrets.

Lethal and dangerous,

Yet, a broken teacup.

.

A route of many endings,

Out of it, only choose one.

Happiness is relative, and

A fantasy believed by fools.

.

Laughter does not equal joy,

Only a mask to hide under.

Crying does not equal pain,

Cause' there's much to gain.

.

Joker can only be Joker,

There's no other alternative.

He who dealt out the cards,

And is discarded himself.

.

* * *

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End file.
